To Play Us Out

It’s two days before Christmas, and I have yet to get a single present for anyone.  I am simply a horrible son, brother, friend, etc.  So what I have been doing instead in order to waste my time?  Watching Christmas movies, of course.  I’ve seen eight of these since I’ve been home, and the final two will be viewed in due time.  Anyway, here’s the list, and I apologize in advance — it was surprisingly hard to find good clips of some of these movies, so you’ll have to just accept what I could find:

10. The Shop Around the Corner

I guess this is as good a place as any to explain why I did not include It’s a Wonderful Life on this list.  Besides the fact that I just plain don’t like it, it ranks #1 on The American Film Institute’s list of the most inspiring movies.  I hate inspiration.  I hate uplifting shit.  So it will not be included.  Nevertheless, I will say Jimmy Stewart is the fucking man.  Have you ever seen Rear Window?  He solves a mystery by just looking out a goddamn window.  How about Harvey?  He has an imaginary giant rabbit friend.  The F.B.I. Story? Vertigo? Rope? Basically anything the man stars in is a classic.  So him in a Christmas movie is just about the best thing ever.  Also, this is the basis for You’ve Got Mail.  It’s essentially the same exact movie, except without email, AOL, and whatnot.  And You’ve Got Mail is one of the greatest movies ever.  S0 just by using basic logic, this has to be good.

9. The Polar Express

Letterman was commenting on the movie Avatar recently, and said something to the effect of “Why spend millions of dollars to create animated characters that look just like the actors playing them?  Why not just film the actors?”  I agree to a certain point, but The Polar Express needed to be animated, and for some reason it doesn’t bother me that Tom Hanks’ character resembles him precisely.  If I were making a list of the top Christmas books, this would probably be #1.  And in an industry where many films tarnish the legacy of the source they were based on, I think this movie does the book justice.  Also, random sidenote: my cousin used to be a dead ringer for the kid in this movie.  He’s like thirteen now.  But every time I see him, I’m like  “Hey, remember when you used to look like that kid in Polar Express?”  That could be why we don’t speak more often.

8. How the Grinch Stole Christmas

In all honesty, I do like the Jim Carrey version of this movie (especially this scene).  But the original is way better.  I don’ have a lot to add here, so I’ll just give you some random facts.  The guy who narrates this movie is the same guy (Boris Karloff) who portrays the monster in Frankenstein. During World War II, Dr. Seuss was the  commander of the animation department of the First Motion Picture Unit of the United States Army Air Forces; I’m glad that we used our resources wisely back then (“I told you — we don’t have the budget for any more tanks!  We spent the last of our funds on the animation department!”).  Additionally, he often drew cartoons depicting his support for the internment of Japanese-Americans (that kind of puts a damper on him, doesn’t it?)  And he smoked a shit ton of weed.  Ok, I made that up, but come on — that’s got to be true.

7. The Muppet Christmas Carol

Ok, so literally as I’m writing this shit, I see a commercial on NBC informing me that the Muppets are about to be on Jimmy Fallon tonight.  This fact alone is almost enough to make remove this movie from the list entirely.  (So, no, it’s fair to say I have not gotten over my hatred of Fallon.)  Luckily, the Muppets and I have a long enough history to where that won’t be necessary.  Here, I would like to start a debate as to which Muppet movie is better: this one, or Muppet Treasure Island? As far as adaptive source, the edge goes to Muppet Christmas Carol (anything by Dickens tops Stevenson’s Treasure Island).  But Muppet Treasure Island has Tim Curry.  So….case closed — Muppet Treasure Island wins.  Tim Curry is a badass.  Have you seen Clue?  Have you seen The Wild Thornberries?  I think I’ve made my point.  But Muppet Christmas Carol is still awesome.

6. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

The whole Vacation series of films is a lesson to movie-makers as to why sequels are, for the most part, a horrible idea.  This is sort of a contradictory statement seeing as how Christmas Vacation itself was a sequel.  But let’s look at the other films in this heptology: European Vacation was pretty goddamn bad, Vegas Vacation was one of the worst movies I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing, and Christmas Vacation 2 was a made-for-TV movie.  (Except for possibly “direct-to-DVD”, is there any phrase that more implies that a film is absolutely terrible besides “made-for-TV”?)

Anyway, while we’re here, let’s look at the career of Chevy Chase.  Here’s someone who, by most accounts, was once considered the funniest man in America.  Let’s see: I’ve only seen him in Three Amigos (funny) and Caddyshack (I absolutely hate that movie. I know that’s like almost heresy to say that because everyone loves that fucking movie.  But I can barely even finish watching because I find it so unfunny).  Now he’s in that show Community, which I’ve been meaning to watch.  Speaking of which, there is a whole list of shows I’ve meant to get around to viewing, but never seem to have the time: Parks and Recreation (which is odd on my part, because I loved the first season when most people didn’t, and apparently it’s gotten a shit ton better this season), Mad Men, The Larry Sanders Show, The Wire, and Breaking Bad (I could write a whole post about the bizarre career of Bryan Cranston) come to mind.  Anyway, it appears I’ve gone off on a tangent again, so let’s just end it here, shall we?

5. The Santa Clause

I never understood the significance of “Clause” being spelled with an “-e” on the end.  I was like four years old when this movie came out and I had no idea what a clause was.  I mean, I knew it wasn’t spelled like usual, and I figured I was missing something.  Same thing happened when I watched The Sons of Katie Elder.  In a critical scene, John Wayne uses the word “transaction” — having no clue as to the meaning of that word at the time, I (wrongly) thought I was missing a key part of the movie.  That was a completely insignificant tidbit I just shared with you.  Nevertheless, this movie is a pretty decent rebound for Tim Allen, considering all he had done up to this point in his life was deal coke, rat out all his similarly coke-dealing friends to avoid a possible life sentence, and star in a terrible sitcom.

4. Home Alone/Home Alone 2

I grouped these together because they’re essentially the same movie.  If pressed, I would probably choose the original as the superior film, mostly because that bird lady in the sequel scares the shit out of me.  It’s weird that I like this movie so much because, as a rule, I cannot stand gag/stupid comedy.  You know as well as I do that both these movies are full of people getting hit in the groin, or falling down stairs, or (see below) getting electrocuted.  I would usually hate a movie like this — I think a comedy should either be mind-bogglingly stupid/immature OR have a good plot line that supplements the humor.  I tend to not like movies that tries to do a little bit of both, like it can’t decide what it wants to be (I’ll use The Hangover as an example here — it was decent, bordering on good, but nowhere near as hilarious as everyone claims).  Anyway, this is the only gag/stupid comedy that I’ve ever liked (I used to include one of my favorite movies of all time, Dumb & Dumber, in this category.  But I’ve decided that while, at the surface, the humor in that movie is stupid and sophomoric, the basis for most of the jokes is very, very clever).  Finally, I watched Home Alone 3 for the first time the other day.  While it didn’t come close to the standard set by the first two, I will say — not that bad.

3. A Christmas Story

I will admit I was one of those kids who asked for (and received) a Red Ryder BB gun after I saw this movie (unfortunately it did not have a compass in the stock).  It was cool — for about a week.  It’s just one of those gifts that serves literally no purpose.  I’m not some sadistic future serial killer who’s going to go out and shoot squirrels or something.  I shot it at a target a couple of times, and that was about it.  I still have the original carton that the BBs came in, and it’s more than half full (keep in mind I got the gun like ten years ago).  But back to the movie.  My dad loves this film, so I swear on my first-born child that sometime in the future I will get my father a leg lamp for Christmas.  He will be required to refer to it as “a major award,”  and he also must say, “Frageeelay.  Must be Italian.”  If he does not do these things, the gift will be rescinded.  One more thing: the narrator of this movie, Jean Shepherd, is Jerry Seinfeld’s idol.  Since Seinfeld is my idol, what does this make Shepherd?  My grand-idol?  Idol²?

2. Jingle All the Way

I think the voters of California should have been required to watch this movie before they elected Arnold Schwarzenegger governor.  I think the results would have been a little different (ie. him not coming in first place).  I say that because if you judge this movie based on acting, or plot, or any other technical aspect by which you would generally measure a film, this would be (and, come to think of it, probably is) on many Worst Movies Ever lists.  But based solely on pure entertainment value, it’s hard to top.  Every time I watch it I giggle like a little schoolgirl.  I’m willing to wager that many of you have never even seen this masterpiece, so let me give you a quick summary: Arnold plays a neglectful husband intent on getting a TurboMan doll for his son.  Along the way, he gets into many a scuffle with Sinbad (yeah, Sinbad!), who plays a malcontent postman, and a cop played by Robert Conrad (who starred in the original Wild Wild West, which was ruined by the Will Smith remake).  In the end, he becomes TurboMan, Sinbad turns into his arch-nemesis, Dementor (did J.K. Rowling steal from Jingle All the Way?), and they have the penultimate battle.  I really wanted to put this #1 on the list, but I’m not completely crazy.

1. White Christmas

Come on — did you honestly think any other movie would be #1?  An all-star cast of Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, Danny Kaye (little known fact: he is the uncle of Michael Richards aka Kramer), and the hot one whose name is escaping me.  Amazing musical numbers.  It’s got everything you want in a Christmas movie.  I have watched this movie once-a-day for the past five days, and seeing as how tomorrow and the next day are Christmas Eve and Christmas, respectfully (I’ve always wanted to write that), I’m sure the streak will continue.  Ok, so I just looked up the hot one’s name, and it turns out she’s one of these Cher-types with the name of Vera-Ellen.  Also, she’s from Norwood, Ohio, which is very near my hometown.  Anyway, I am very surprised to learn that even though Clooney is supposed to be the older sister, Vera-Ellen is actually seven years older.  Clooney looks way older, in my opinion, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she was in her late-thirties or so when filming this movie; rather, she was only twenty-five.  Nevertheless, let me conclude by saying it was very difficult to choose which clip to play here, because there are simply too many good ones to choose from.  You’ve got “Sisters, Sisters,”  “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing,” “Snow,” and “I Wish I Was Back in the Army,” just to name a few (there’s a home video from many years ago of my sister and I performing the latter).  But in the end, I decided the following was my favorite:

Just missed: Santa Claus is Coming to Town; Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer; Frosty the Snowman; Gremlins; Die Hard; A Charlie Brown Christmas; By the Light of the Silvery Moon.

The “Heart of Darkness” post I wrote is now up under my column section at Points in Case.  It’s essentially the same exact post (albeit with a different title), but by all means check it out if you want to.

Coming up this week:

• The Top 10 Christmas Movies of All Time.  I’ve been diligently plugging away at this list, and I’m having to make some really hard decisions.  Hopefully it’ll be satisfactory.
• I plan on finally finishing “A Man Apart,” which is #99 in “Atlas Watches the 100 Worst Movies of All Time.”  I kind of forgot about this segment, and I’m sure most of you did as well.

Speaking of Christmas, I discovered something kind of embarrassing: I’m asking for the exact same gifts as my 9-year old cousin: NFL jersey (in my case, a Rey Maualuga — which I’ve already received), Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, and a new iPod.  Why do I need a new iPod, you ask?  Well, 3/5’s and I were at a party, and he decided he had to hear “Funky Town.”  So I stupidly tried to hook up my iPod to the stereo system.  About a minute into the tune, it fell off and shattered.  So thanks to Lipps, Inc. and their song for doing this to me.

I’m just really fucking bored.  Sunny and The League are over, so there’s nothing to watch.  Fantasy football is almost finished, and I don’t know what I’m going to with myself when that concludes.  Probably write a whole bunch of shit on here.  I’m sure you’re all looking forward to that.  In the meantime, enjoy this from Marty Funkhouser on Curb:

Sometimes, there are things that are so perfectly hilarious that I don’t even feel the need to make a comment.  This is one of those things:

(I am so bad at titling.  I will seriously spend as much time debating over a title as I do writing the fucking post.  So for the time being I’m going to start naming these things after the shit-tastic books we had to read in high school.)

This week was finals week at The Ohio State University, which, for me, means a steady diet of energy drinks and 5-hour energy shots, writing papers, studying, and procrastination.  A couple of nights ago, I had a six page philosophy paper* to write.  I probably only spent like two hours actually writing the paper, but I ended up staying awake all night because rather than just cranking it out quickly, I spent my time watching WWE, Super Dave Osborne, Kill Bill, Hoarders, and Dooley and Pals.  As I write this, I’ve been awake for 60 of the last 64 hours, so if I begin to ramble on in a manner that resembles a crazed individual, that’s the reason.

*When I went to turn the paper in at my teacher’s office, I realized that I had stapled the last three pages in the wrong order.  He wasn’t there, so I asked a woman at a desk nearby if I could borrow her stapler.  She gave me a somewhat perturbed look, and then said, “Yes, but only one staple.”  I was so shocked that I didn’t even have a retort.  How much does a staple cost?  Like .000000001 cents?  And as Fucktard noted, I’ve probably paid enough in tuition already for her to buy like a billion staples.  It was absolutely the Jewiest display I’ve ever seen.

So I was extremely tired when I arrived at the airport for my flight home to Minneapolis.  I absolutely despise airports.  They have everything I hate — long lines, large crowds, the possibility of a terrorist attack.  I got my boarding pass and headed towards security.  The lady who was checking the boarding passes asked the same question that every person at the airport always asks me: “Going home from college?”  I always want to explain that I’m actually from Cincinnati, and my parents moved to Minnesota right before I went to college, and I’ve never actually lived there, and yada, yada, yada…but instead I decided to make things easy and just reply “Yes.”

I put my bags through the scanners, and I heard a beeping noise.  The guard asked me if the bags in question were mine, and I answered in the affirmative.  At that point, I was thinking I had made a mistake similar to the one I made at LAX where I accidentally left some toothpaste in my bag.  But to my surprise, the guard said the flagged item was in my bookbag, not my suitcase.  He said, “Well, it looks like a can.  I bet you’re a Mountain Dew type guy, aren’t you?”  So they took my bag down to the end of the line, opened it up, and guess what they found?  A Nati can.  I guess I had left it in there after the Mirror Lake jump.  Now, I was actually kind of worried that I was going to get in real trouble.  I mean I’m not 21, and these security people are kind of law enforcement officials, and I was scared that I had committed some type of federal crime or something.  Anyway, I explained the Mirror Lake story to the guard, to which he replied, “At least we beat Michigan, right? Go Bucks!” and handed my bag back to me.  Crisis averted.

As I went to sit at the gate, my mind was racing.  I wouldn’t really say I’m afraid of flying, but I definitely get a little bit worried.  Plus, I had heard reports of like a foot of snow in Minnesota.  So I kept having visions of both Steve Martin spending the night in some random airport in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and the crash scene in Cast Away. The thing about flying that scares me is that I don’t really understand it.  Like you can explain the history of the Wright Brothers, and the physics behind flight and all that shit — but I still don’t think we should be riding in huge objects in the sky.  It just doesn’t sit well.  It’s like when Heinz came out with blue ketchup.  It’s weird, and you’re kind of afraid to try it.  In your heart you know it’s probably all right, but you’re tentative, nonetheless.  But it’s like Larry David says: “Nobody likes to fly.  I don’t even like to drive.  And I don’t like walking.  So occasionally I don’t know which mode of transportation to use.”  Seriously, though, if I had my car in Columbus, I would much rather have spent 13 hours driving than 3 hours in the airport/plane.

Once I finally got on the plane, I managed to have a couple of minor incidents before we even took off.  I asked this middle-aged woman across the aisle from me if I could have a piece of gum.  The air pressure in planes really gets to me for some reason.  (When I flew to California, it was really bad — everything was intensely muted for like two weeks.)  Now, about ten seconds earlier, this woman had given her husband a piece of gum, and I could see that her pack was almost entirely full.  But when I asked, she replied, “No, I don’t have any more.”  I”ll be the first to admit that I routinely lie about my gum quantities — but only when I have few pieces left.  This woman had an obvious surplus of gum, and she couldn’t share any?  Unbelievable.  The other “run-in” occurred when the flight attendant (whom I usually find to be very obnoxious, on the whole) told me my bag was too big and would have to be checked.  Now, there is now way I’m paying like forty bucks to check this bag.  So I’m trying to shove it up above and she’s trying to grab it back down — eventually I won.  Unfortunately, to get her revenge, she then skipped me the first time she came around for drinks.  (Don’t you hate how soon they come around with the trash bag?  You get your drink and about five seconds later they expect you to be finished with it.)

For the duration of the flight, I was seated next to a 77-year-old woman (yes, she told me her age).  Even though I’m usually an asshole to everyone, I do have a soft spot for the elderly — probably because my grandparents are the shit.  My grandpa was a Marine who got his leg run over by a goddamn tank, and he also was involved in the preparations for the Bay of Pigs (epic fail, but whatever).  One of my grandmas is 1/8 Native American (“Cherokee Nay-tion!  Cherokee Tri-hibe!”  Sorry, I had to invoke Tim McGraw there).  And my other grandma sends me a card for every holiday.  I don’t just mean the big ones — every holiday.  We’re talking Labor Day, Memorial Day, even Arbor Day.  Last time I checked I’m not an employed person, a dead soldier, nor a tree hugger, but still.

But no amount of generosity could allow me to tolerate this old bitch.  She talked the whole time.  And I mean the whole fucking time.  She talked about her son, who used to a be a pilot, and now he’s a consultant, and he has three children, and OH MY GOD KILL ME NOW.  She played up the old person stereotype by telling me really obvious things.  For example, she was telling me about her time in Europe, and she’s like, “Did you know they drive on the left side of the road?”  No.  Fucking.  Way.  I didn’t know that basic fact.  Thank you for sharing it, you delusional old bag.  And to make matters worse, she was obviously hard of hearing.  Plus the plane is loud.  So she didn’t talk loud enough, and I probably missed like 75% of what she said anyway.  And the few times I could offer a response, she couldn’t hear me either, so basically it was a just a cluster-fuck of nodding, pretend laughter, and acting like we could understand each other.

She finally let up for the last fifteen minutes or so, so in all I got to read like ten pages of my book.  Great.  I do love landing on airplanes, though.  Being in a window seat and watching the landing gear come down is the shit.  It’s like being inside a Transformer.  When we got off the plane, the old woman was sort of lagging behind me.  I decided to wait for her, and as she approached I said, “It was nice talking to you.”  She barely even looked at me, uttered “Yeah,” and kept moving.  Now, here I am, just trying to be nice to this old sack of shit after she just made my plane ride a living hell, and this is all she can muster?  Not even a “nice talking to you too”?  At least feign friendliness, you cunt.  The end.

I don’t have the time nor the energy to write another big post ripping on Facebook (okay, I have the time but certainly not the energy).  But I have a few things to point out so let’s just knock this out bullet-point-style:

• Have you noticed that you have access to a lot more wall-to-walls lately?  Apparently due to some new privacy policy, you can now see convos between friends and some friends-of-friends.  This is not good for a Facebook creeper like myself.  Yes, of course, I can now take my creeping to a whole new level.  But with great power comes great responsibility*.  And I am not a responsible person.  If you’re my friend on Facebook, I probably already know way too much about you.  And now I’m about to know way too much about your friends.

*For some reason, ESPN decided Herm Edwards was qualified to speak on the Tiger Woods matter during a recent episode of SportsCenter. He gave some long, passionate diatribe (as is his nature), and at one point uttered “with great power comes great responsibility.”  So now we have the oratorical legend that is Edwards (“Hello! You play! To win!  The game!”)  uttering quotes from Spiderman.  Epic and mildly disappointing at the same time.

• This “Become a Fan of…” shit is getting completely out of hand.  Here are a few things I am a fan of: Kenny Bania, the D.E.N.N.I.S. System, the Ocho Cinco News Network.  Those are actual things that you can actually like.  Here is something I am not, and never will be, a fan of: “When I realized that 3.14 looks like pie backwards, my mind was blown.”  That doesn’t make any sense.  You cannot be a fan of a time when you noticed something.  You cannot be a fan of an instance.  Also, your “mind was blown”?  That sounds like a bit of an overstatement.

• “Top Stalker” Apps: Listen, people, read the goddamn fine print.  Facebook will never, ever tell you who views your profile the most.  They just won’t.  This stalker shit is just telling you who “interacts” with your profile the most — comments, “likes”, etc.  Trust, me, if it showed who viewed profiles the most I would be #1 on everyone’s list.

• Phone groups:  First off, stop creating events when you need numbers.  Just create a group like a normal fucking human being.  Under “events” on my home page, it says “Funeral for my Phone,” and it will continue to do for the next month because some faggot I know fails to grasp this concept.  Second, stop trying to be cute and tell some story about how you lost/broke your phone.  No one gives a fuck.  Third, stop inviting your entire friends list to the group.  We know you’re just doing this to get some hot girl’s number that you didn’t have before.  Guess what?  She’s probably on to your scheme and now you look like an even bigger creep.  Fourth, to the people that do join the group — write your fucking number down.  Otherwise, what’s the point of being in the group?  Every time I see a group with like 80 members but only 35 wall posts I get pissed off.  What are these other 45 people doing?  Do you think it looks cool that you’re in this group but too reluctant to offer your number?  Let me answer that for you: no, it doesn’t.

• Social Interview: Please make it stop.

• The “You haven’t talked to this person in awhile” box in the upper right-hand corner: I probably haven’t talked to them because they are a huge douche/cunt.  Or because they are Terrelle Pryor.  So, Facebook, stop telling me what to do.

• Bumper stickers: They offered minor doses of hilarity, but more so they really brought out the gayness in people.  What in the hell happened to them?  Please bring them back.

• Changing your Facebook name: Yes, it could be somewhat embarrassing if a potential employer saw some of the shit on your Facebook, and this is your attempt to hide yourself.  But you are aware that you can make your profile entirely private, right?  I mean, with one click, you can make it so no one can even search your name.  So stop changing your name to shit like Atlas “TheAwesome1″ Jobinson.

• Finally, this one is personal to me, but: STOP INVITING ME TO HILLEL CHARITY EVENTS.  You know who you are.  I am the biggest asshole in the entire world.  Why would I want to help people?  Even if I did, why would I want to help Jews? So please just contact someone else.  I am not your guy.

Whenever I download new music, I play it all the time.  I know you’re thinking “Doesn’t everyone do that?” — but I take it  to another level.  My housemates can attest to the fact that I basically become obsessed with songs.  A few months ago, it was Dion’s “Runaround Sue,” Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome,” and Bobby Darin’s “Mack the Knife.”  Lately, it’s been George Baker Selection’s “Little Green Bag,”  The Del Viking’s “Come Go With Me,” and Bill Withers’ “Use Me.”

But the one that I’m infatuated with at the moment is Blue Swede’s “Hooked on a Feeling.”  I heard it in Reservoir Dogs, and I can’t get enough of it (any song featured in a Tarantino movie is usually the shit).  So when I came across this video, I wasn’t sure what to think:

Is that not the craziest shit you’ve ever seen?  I mean he’s flying, then flying on a motorcycle, then angels just show up out of nowhere, then there’s two Hasslehoffs (both of whom are singing), and somehow he starts eating a fish.  It’s like a bad acid trip.  I don’t what the hell is going on.  And I still haven’t decided whether this video makes me like the song less or more.  I’m leaning towards more.

I fucking love Christmas.  From ugly Christmas sweater parties (Jesus drank, so can we!), to Reese’s Christmas Trees, to (obviously) getting gifts, there is not a better holiday.  But I think the best thing about Christmas is the mass amounts of holiday-themed movies and songs that get played around this time of year.  And since I haven’t done a list in a while, I will now count down the Top 10 Christmas songs of all time — I’ll do the Top 10 Christmas movies soon.  Leave your disagreements in the comments.

10. The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late) – Alvin and the Chipmunks

I love The Chipmunks.  Alvin, Simon, and Theodore had a great TV show, and even had other good songs besides this one (such as “Witch Doctor”).  I think it’s a travesty that they got that retard Jason Lee to start in the live-action movies (the second one is going to be called Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel — I can’t even begin to describe how gay that is).  Regardless of all that, here’s my query: I always thought Dave was just like the Chipmunks caretaker/guardian.  But on Wikipedia, it clearly states that he is in fact their father.  So — did he have sex with a female chipmunk?  Has this show been advocating bestiality all these years?  What the hell is going on?

9. Happy Christmas (War is Over) – John Lennon

Technically, this tune is performed by Lennon, Yoko Ono, and the Plastic Ono Band.  But I refuse to acknowledge the latter two parts of that ensemble.  I’ve never heard Yoko sing, perform, or do much of anything.  To me, she is a horribly ugly woman who broke up the Beatles.  So fuck you, Yoko Ono, and the band named in your honor.  But the song is really good, and leave it to Lennon to mix in a bit of war protest with a Christmas song.

8. Winter Wonderland – Various Artists

There’s a line in this song that goes, “In the meadow we can build a snowman / Then pretend that he is Parson Brown.” So for longest time, I wondered who in the hell Parson Brown was, and why there were making snowmen like him. I’ve done some research and discovered that “parson” is actually another name for a minister, so, in this case, “Parson” is a title, not a first name. Mystery solved. Side note: I think it would be more of a challenge to make a snowman look like Alan Parsons.

7. Feliz Navidad – José Feliciano

Every time I try to sing a song that has Spanish lyrics, like “La Bamba” or “Oye Como Va,” I completely and utterly fail.  I can get the words that are in the title, but that’s about it.  That’s why I like “Feliz Navidad” — not only can I pronounce all the Spanish words, but I can even understand them.  Additionally, on Wikipedia it lists cover versions of this song, and one of the bands it lists is The Wiggles.  Are they really a legitimate enough music group to be performing covers of songs?  What is the world coming to?

6. Little Saint Nick – The Beach Boys

I love the Beach Boys.  “Barbara Ann” is just a great song, and “Kokomo” spawned one of my favorite SNL skits featuring my favorite baseball player.  So why wouldn’t their Christmas music be sweet?  While I do like this song, it does contain one of the worst song lyrics of all time: “Christmas comes this time each year.”  I mean, who doesn’t know that?  They’re literally just stating a fact.  However, this lyric pales in comparison to the atrocity that is the following verse, featured in Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ‘69″ — “We had a band and we tried real hard.”  That is seriously the worst thing I’ve ever heard and I still can’t believe it’s in a song.

5. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree – Brenda Lee

My mom doesn’t really drink.  So on the few occasions that she does consume alcohol, she becomes hilarious, to say the least.  Around Christmas like two years ago, we had a family Christmas party, and my mom and my aunts were drinking eggnog pretty steadily.  We went out to this restaurant/bar, and lo and behold, they had karaoke.  So, with some prodding from my aunts, my mom got up and performed “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”  It was so amazingly out of character that it wasn’t even embarrassing.  Frankly, it was stupendous — she received a standing ovation.  Anyway, that’s my association with this song.

4. Blue Christmas – Elvis Presley

Like Michael Scott in Thursday’s Office, I do an amazing Elvis impersonation.  I am not even joking — I’ll do it on the radio show sometime to prove it.  Anyway, this song is now unfortunately being used in Verizon commercials.  If I were a performing artist, I would never allow my songs to be used in advertisements.  As a consumer, I almost always think of the ad that a song is associated with instead of just enjoying the song.  For example, there was some insurance company that used to use the Beatles’ “Come Together” in their commercials — now, whenever I hear that song, that’s all I can think of.  Similarly, this is why I hate the Black Eyed Peas.  I mean, really — be in more commercials, you sold-out, money-grubbing douchebags.  Anyway, to get my back to my central point, “Blue Christmas” is awesome.  And while we’re at it, check out “Santa, Bring My Baby Back To Me” — not as heralded as “Blue Christmas,” but great nonetheless (especially whatever noises they’re making at :53).

3. Jingle Bell Rock – Bobby Helms

To quote Mean Girls,  everyone in the English-speaking world knows this song.  It’s probably the catchiest tune on the list, and the most sing-alongable —  Jeff George and I were just performing (yes, performing) it yesterday.  Also, this song was one of the first to be described as “rockabilly,” which is definitely on my list of favorite words.

2. All I Want For Christmas Is You – Mariah Carey

I really don’t care for Mariah Carey. (But damn, before watching that video, I forgot how hot she was back then.)  She pretty much played my boy Derek Jeter back in the late ’90s, and now she’s married to that bitch Nick Cannon.  I think we can all agree that Nick Cannon is one of the most untalented, worthless pieces of shit to ever have popped into the entertainment sphere.  I’m still angry at Nickelodeon for shoving him down our throats all those years.  I’m not a big Eminem fan, but when he came out with “The Warning” and basically ripped the shit out of Carey and Cannon’s relationship, I was ecstatic.  Nevertheless, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” is just a delightful song, and props to Mariah for having the only contemporary hit on this list. Apparently, she’s trying to adapt her Merry Christmas album into a feature film.  It can’t be any worse than New Moon, can it?

1. White Christmas – Bing Crosby

A wonderful song from a wonderful movie (but will it make the Top 10 Christmas movies of all time? The suspense is killing you, I can tell.)  Did you know that this song was written by a Jew? Well, it was, and his name was Irving Berlin (a Jew whose last name is the same as the German capital?).  Apparently, he stayed up all night writing, and told his secretary, “Grab your pen and take down this song. I just wrote the best song I’ve ever written — hell, I just wrote the best song that anybody’s ever written!”  Well, aren’t we pompous?  Also, it says on Wikipedia that Bing Crosby used to smoke a shit ton of weed, and that’s why he always appeared so laid back in his movies — which is probably the funniest thing I have ever heard.

Just missed: The Christmas Song – Nat King Cole; Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer – Gene Autry; Holly Jolly Christmas – Burl Ives; Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow – Ella Fitzgerald; Please Come Home for Christmas – The Eagles; I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas – Gayla Peevey; Christmas in Hollis – Run-DMC.

I need to start off this tale with a confession: I used to be a Michigan fan.  It’s highly embarrassing, I know, but I have valid reasons.  Both my parents attended the University of Michigan, I was born in Michigan, and I was basically raised a Wolverine.  I used to always play as the maize and blue on NCAA Football, and I also regularly attended Michigan games.  Did I once even stoop so low as to rush the field at the Big House after the Wolverines (I almost wrote “we”) beat the Buckeyes?  I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes, I did.  But I’ll have you know this — the day I made my fateful decision to attend Ohio State, I sold all my Michigan-themed possessions, and donated the proceeds to the Woody Hayes Foundation.  Okay, that’s not true, but I did denounce any and all Wolverine allegiances.  I guess I can quote the esteemed Terrelle Pryor in saying, “I’m glad I’m on this side.”

So, for that reason, I still have somewhat of an inferiorty complex about my Ohio State fandom.  Hence, I try to fully invest myself in school spirit-building events — the primary one, of course, being the Mirror Lake Jump.  I’m sure most of you are aware of this tradition, but for those of you that aren’t (fuck you), basically all of us Buckeyes jump into a lake (really more of a pond) on the Thursday before the Michigan game.  And by all of us I mean everyone except Mr. P90ForLife.

I am still surprised and somewhat disheartened by Mr. P90ForLife’s decision not to jump in the lake.  He certainly does not contain the amount of school spirit that I deem acceptable, and his decision to go to Mirror Lake just to watch the rest of us came off as a slap to the face.  “Oh, look at me, I’m P90ForLife, and I’ll just sit here in my hoody while all of you honor the outstanding institution that is The Ohio State University.”  Fuck.  That.  (And I’m not saying P90ForLife did this, but to all those fags who don’t jump in and would rather stand there awkwardly and watch, and then complain about getting wet: Fuck you.)

My anger towards him increased multi-fold when, while in the lake, I came upon perhaps the nerdiest kid I have ever seen.  Wearing glasses and a shirt that displayed math algorithms, he appeared to be the white Steve Urkel.  He probably weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of ninety pounds, looking as though he had been surviving on a diet of nothing but bread, water, and vertical asymptotes for the past eighteen years.  When I saw him, he had his arms crossed in such a way that I could tell he was seriously reconsidering his decision to jump in the first place.  Seeing this, I immediately splashed him with water, attempting to buoy (water pun!) his spirits.  He looked at me, and in one of the highest-pitched male voices I’ve ever heard, exclaimed, “Hey man!  Not cool!”  My point with this kid is that even he was in the lake.  And P90ForLife was not.  Unreal.

Anyway, back to the story.  Once we all got sufficiently drunk enough, we headed towards the lake.  I made sure to wear my favorite Ohio State shirt (it says “Michigan Blows” and depicts a Wolverine cheerleader blowing Brutus — God, I fucking love that shirt.)  I thought that we would all line up on the bank, join hands, maybe sing “Kumbaya,” and then jump together.  Instead, 3/5’s quickly ran past me and cannonballed in, with little regard for life or limb.  Seeing this, I thought “Fuck it,” and followed him in.  The water was so cold that my breath was quickly taken from me — I felt like a Titanic survivor waiting for the Carpathia. Of course, as when in any body of water, this feeling quickly subsided and I was ready to go.  (I literally just explained how water works.  Fuck.  Me.)

I was in the lake for almost an hour and a half, and I have to say it might have been the most fun ninety minutes of my life.  Even coming from a person who hates sentimentality, camaraderie, and all that bullshit, I will admit — there was a lot of unity in that lake.  Whether we were chanting “Fuck Michigan!” or singing the bass-line to “Seven Nation Army,”  it felt like a family.  And I know this all sounds like one of those gay college ads on TV, but it’s true.  I did hear one kid try to start a “Fuck TP!” chant.  I’m not saying he’s a great quarterback, but that is completely unacceptable, not to mention asinine.  The kid was quickly splashed.  Also, I started to get pissed because I thought someone was waving the Confederate flag.  But then I realized that I was merely drunkenly looking at the flag for the state of Ohio.

So after awhile, I had finally had enough, and decided to get out and head back to my house.  (Trashpockets says that he was in the lake for almost as long as me.  He also says that OSU safety Kurt Coleman videotaped him yelling “Go Bucks!” or something.  I find both claims suspect, but I digest.)  I should pause here and mention that before the jump, we had stashed some towels and a change of clothes in a dorm next to the lake (Mack Hall), where some of Fucktard’s friends still live.  So I got out of the lake, completely soaked in water, mud, and, somehow, Styrofoam packing peanuts, and went back to get my shit.  I entered the dorm room, and was quickly greeted by a horribly stunning revelation — Fucktard had already been by, and had taken my stuff back to our house.

So now I have to walk  like seven or eight blocks, in thirty degree weather mind you, while wearing my wet clothes.  Needless to say, I was fucking pissed.  Not that I was all that surprised, though, because this was just another attempt by Fucktard to act as something of a mother figure.  He claims he didn’t think I would be able to get back to Mack Hall, and he didn’t want my stuff to get lost.  What am I, a goddamned retard?  I can’t get back into a building?  Anyway, I exited Mack through a back door and started to make my trek home.

That turned out to be a mistake.  See, behind Mack Hall there is a large courtyard, from which there are only two exits.  One is the aforementioned back door of Mack, and the back doors of the several other buildings that flow into the courtyard.  Unfortunately, I could not use those doors.  Living off campus means that my BuckID does not allow me to swipe and enter dorm buildings.  The second available exit is a series of interlocking metal doors.  Sadly, all those doors were locked, given that it was approaching two o’clock in the morning.  I had no phone and no way out.  Like Fortunato in “The Cask of Amontillado,” I was completely and utterly trapped, with death surely only moments away.  I sat down on a bench, shivering, and began to weigh my options — of which there were really only two.  One was suicide.  The second was to hope and pray that someone would come out of one of the back doors and let me in.  I chose the latter option, and eventually, after sitting in the cold for about twenty minutes, I was assisted by some F.O.B. Asian girl who looked terrified at the sight of me.

I finally made it home, and when I did, the rest of my house was gathered around the TV, ready to watch a DVR-ed episode of The League.  Now, here I am having just suffered through an ordeal that I would put on par with Paul Sheldon’s in Misery, and these assholes say they won’t even wait for me to shower — they were watching the episode now, with or without me.  I was cold, freezing even, but this is the fucking League we’re talking about — you think I’m going to miss that shit?  So I wrapped myself in a towel, sat down, and watched what I would deem the best episode this season.  (Seriously, if you’re not watching this show, you should be.  You don’t even have to like fantasy football.  It’s fucking hilarious.)  I finally got around to taking a shower, but since everyone else had gotten back before me and bathed already, there was barely any hot water left.  That night, I ended up sleeping in a sweatshirt, sweatpants, two pairs of socks, a robe, and three blankets.  But at least I felt like I did my part in beating Michigan.  Let’s just end with this for good measure: